Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss.
Wednesday morning in budding British Columbia looked, not surprisingly, a lot like Tuesday morning. Grey skies, threat of rain, maybe a cameo walk-on by the sun, same-old, same-old.
Premier Tippler heads back to work with three per cent more legislative seats than he started the week with, the James Gang returns three per cent lighter. Despite the seasonal orgy of growth, there continues to be no apparent greening in Victoria. There are, to be sure, new faces. And despite the apparent lack of popular demand from people around the province who have felt under-represented, nine new bodies will be vying for room at the trough, six representing new ridings carved out of old ridings and three who fill seats left vacant when their former occupants lost interest... or whatever.
And, of course, the 23 per cent of voters in this riding who voted for the Green candidate join the 23 per cent of the voters who voted for the NDP in their quadrennial, symbolic pissing into the wind. B.C. voters chose overwhelmingly to retain the horribly flawed first past the post system as opposed to taking a header on the horribly incomprehensible sexually transmitted vote. Changing the way we vote will always be an uphill battle; changing it to something no one understands isn't a good start. Having proven that twice now, maybe we should be looking elsewhere for the answer.
In summary, whatcha got is whatcha get. If you spent Tuesday mired in an all-consuming work project, hangover, orgy or vision quest, the only substantive change since then has been the date on the calendar.
Around Tiny Town though, change is in the air. Workerbees have been beavering away with powerrakes, powershovels, powerbrooms and powerfertilizer greening up the ol' sustainable place. Several hundred tonnes of winter grit has been powersucked up into big machines, packaged into neat boxes and stored away to be used next year when the snow falls.
B.C. Transit continues its moonscape theme park near Nesters, Rainbow its moonscape neighbourhood near nowhere, the muni its moonscape water project near Rainbow Park and the town partythrowers their fullmoon party near oblivion.
While I've been mooning over spring skiing, spring skiing's been largely absent. Oh, to be sure, it is spring and there is skiing. But with one eye on the snowline earlier this week and the other on the thermometer, one could be forgiven thinking the needle's gotten stuck somewhere in late winter. Until, that is, one actually ventures up the mountain to ski. While long underwear instead of shorts beneath ski pants says winter, the nearly complete absence of fellow travelers cries late spring. I don't know if the MotherCorp will reopen Whistler for skiing on Monday as they've planned. But they can be forgiven if they choose to shutter the ticket windows and await summer's sightseeing throngs. They've got to be oozing red ink as well as the blood of workerbees recently let go.